


Progress

by Trotzkopf



Series: Cravings [2]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Desire to have major hanky panky expressed in no uncertain terms, M/M, Second Kiss, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 07:43:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12883269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trotzkopf/pseuds/Trotzkopf
Summary: A few weeks after the kiss-that-never-happened, Vimes finds himself in Vetinari's office. He is tired and confused and would rather be on neck-breaking chases than face the reality that is mutual attraction. And he can, all he has to do is choose that it - that kiss - really never happened. Easier said than done!





	Progress

The Patrician looked out of his office window and thought about bees. That’s what this city was: a great colony of small minds working more or less together. The only difference was bees were useful, efficient and seemed to be quite sure about their place in the multiverse whereas people of all shapes just bumbled along with unenlightened self-interest.

And yet, the city was a hive. A collection of small-minded, petty, cruel individuals all banded together around one central goal: let tomorrow be like yesterday only with more for me, myself and I. And thus, they moved ever onward. 

The door behind him opened and shut as Commander Sam Vimes entered.

“Good morning, Commander,” Vetinari greeted and walked back to his chair behind the desk covered in reports.  

“Sir,” Vimes saluted and, as usual, fixed his gaze on the wall just behind the Patrician’s left ear. 

Vetinari studied the face in front of him out of the corner of his eyes as he pretended to shuffle the papers on the desk. Vimes looked exhausted. 

Another door to the office opened and Drumknott, the Patrician’s secretary, came inside with a tray bearing two cups, a pot of coffee and assorted baked goods. The Commander’s eyes never shifted but his nostrils flared. 

“Thank you, Drumknott, you may go.” The secretary inclined his head as he put the tray on a corner of the desk and left as quietly as he had appeared.

“Take a seat, Commander,” Vetinari offered. 

“Sir,” Vimes replied and stood a bit more to attention. 

The Patrician took a deep breath. “Sit down, that’s an order if it makes you feel any better.” 

For the first time, their eyes met. Sam’s radiated cold disdain but only for a moment before the rest of his tired self had a meeting and agreed to motion down and back into the upholstered chair. He visibly repressed a groan by biting on his lower lip. 

Vetinari pretended not to notice. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black.” 

“Of course.” 

A delicate cup was handed to the Commander, who took it as if he was picking up a dead rat. He sniffed briefly before taking a cautious sip and then frowned at the coffee as if it had wronged him before he drained the cup to the bottom. 

Vetinari hid his smirk behind his own cup. Sam’s eyes darted to the pot. 

“Please, help yourself.”

Predictably, the Commander ignored the offer and asked, “You wanted to see me?” 

Vetinari suppressed a sigh. He put his coffee down, leaned forward and steepled his fingers. 

“What do you know about bees, Commander?” 

Sam’s brow knitted, “Pardon?”

“I’m referring to the notion that a collective of small individuals working together has the ability to form a consensus that is greater than the sum of their parts and thus produce a so called hive mind.” 

Vimes was staring at him out of bloodshot eyes. When had that man last slept? 

Undeterred by the lack of response from his conversation partner, Vetinari continued. “It’s fascinating. Take the city, for example,” he gestured toward the window, “all these individuals going about their business with only one thought on their minds: how can I get ahead, preferably by kicking down on the others. And somehow this egotistical zeal moves the city onwards toward a greater good.” 

“The greater good?” Vimes asked mockingly. “And what is that, exactly?”

Vetinari flashed him a smile. “Progress, of course. If those petty, little minds didn’t work so hard to outwit one another, we would still be sitting in trees flinging fruit.” 

Sam scratched his stubbly chin. “Well, that much is true. Although I bet even back then we were bartering with fruit rather than fling it and competed for more tree space by industrially employing violence.” 

“Precisely,” the Patrician agreed. “Progress is made through struggle, and what I’m struggling with this morning is why the Commander of my Watch is so determined to kill himself?” 

A heavy silence fell over the room. The muscles in Vimes’ jaw clenched as he stared at the desk in sullen silence. Minutes went past, neither man said a word. 

“I have reports here from several sources suggesting you’re taking unnecessary risks.” Vimes was about to speak but Vetinari held up his hand as he picked a piece of paper off the desk and read, 

“At 200 hours on Wednesday, Commander Vimes took it onto himself to chase Bugsy Spines across the rooftops despite the presence of three other watchmen - one of whom was a vampire.” He glanced up at Vimes whose face had taken on a wooden expression. 

“The Commander continued pursuit and tackled the suspect to the ground, crashing through a skylight of Lars Ironeater’s metal works factory in the process. The Commander escaped certain death by landing on top of subject who in turn was less fortunate and impaled on unfinished pitchfork tynes. The Commander sustained minor puncture wounds, shallow enough as to not be life threatening. The Commander returned to work immediately, receiving first aid from Igor employed by Watch.” Vetinari looked up from the report and raised his eyebrows. Vimes shrugged. “Sounds like a normal day’s work to me.”

“Vimes, I have ten such reports all dating from last week alone. What is going on?” There was a hint of anger in the Patrician’s voice. 

After a quick glance at the door which lead to Drumknott’s adjacent office, Vimes hissed, “You have some nerve asking me that. Sir.” 

There was no need to elaborate. Havelock had suspected as much but was still equally concerned and intrigued why it was causing the Commander so much grief. 

Another silence stretched between them, Sam’s shoulders were heaving, fists clenched on the armrests. He looked ready to bolt or attack, and only sheer bloody mindedness seemed to keep him put. 

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” lied Vetinari. 

It had the desired effect. Vimes shot out of the chair, his palms slapped onto the desk and sent papers flying. He growled, “You know damn well what I’m talking about. Don’t you dare pretend you don’t! Don’t. You. Dare.” 

“Pardon me, but I was under the impression this was precisely what you wanted,” the Patrician pointed out. He tossed the report away and walked around his desk, right into Sam Vimes’ personal space who was still standing with his hands on the surface, pointedly not turning to look at his lordship.

“Sam-“

“Do not call me that!” Vimes hissed through gritted teeth. His face was flushed, anger was rolling off of him in waves and he still refused to move. 

Vetinari pursed his lips, “Sir Samuel,” Vimes cursed under his breath but didn’t protest. “Sir Samuel, if you recall you made it very clear that the, shall we say, incident should be forgotten. I acquiesced to your request. What exactly is the problem?” 

“Oh, you acquiesced, did you?” 

“It means-“

“I _know_ what it means. It only makes it worse,” Vimes growled. He straightened up and pulled at his greying hair in frustration. It was a little too long, another sign of self-neglect. Vetinari permitted himself to wonder what it would feel like run his hands through it again. 

“I have a wife, a son - I have a family. This,” Vimes gestured between them, “can’t happen.” 

Vetinari sighed, “Commander, nothing is happening, nothing has to happen. In fact, according to your preferred narrative nothing has happened in the first place. This is, if you will, much ado about nothing.” 

Vimes yelled in frustration and slammed his hands on the desk. Both men immediately stared at the door to Drumknott’s office. When the secretary failed to materialise, Vimes turned his attention back to the Patrician and snarled, “Then, why am I here?” 

The corner of Vetinari’s mouth twitched, “Why indeed?” 

Sam scoffed and with a shake of his head, turned to storm out of the office. But before he could reach the door, Vetinari said, “Sir Samuel, evidence suggest you are becoming a liability. I can’t permit this.”

Like a wrathful god, Vimes spun around and advanced. “A liability? I’m doing my job!”

“You’re taking unnecessary risks. You’re acting like a man on the run for his life, consequences be damned. What are you running away from?” Vetinari growled.

“I don’t need to listen to this!” Vimes made to leave, but this time the Patrician stepped into his path. They glared at each other.

“Commander, this doesn’t have to be complicated. As I have reiterated now ad nauseam, nothing happened-“

“Fine, if you’ll excuse-“

Vetinari held up a hand, not quite touching Sam’s chest, “But you need to accept this as fact, or else I fear I will dictate your eulogy to Ms Cripslock before the month is over.” 

Up close, Vimes looked even more worn out. The word haunted presented itself as a description for the expression in the man’s eyes. 

Sam shook his head. “I…how? Believe me, I’ve tried. I can’t-” his breath hitched, “Damn, I’m the Commander of the Watch and I have a family. I…” He let the sentence trail off and stared into Vetinari’s cold, blue eyes. He took a shuddering breath before he asked more calmly, “What can I do?” 

Vetinari held his gaze, “Move on.” 

Given his slightly stunned expression, Vimes had not expected this answer. The muscles in his throat worked as he tried to find his voice again. “I’ve already tried that, it’s not working.”

Vetinari shook his head, “No, you’ve tried to run away. That’s something different altogether; it’s called avoidance.” 

Vimes gave a bitter laugh, “Enlighten me, then, how is this supposed to work?”

Vetinari pursed his lips. “Accept that we kissed, not because of an accident or on behest of a demonic entity. It happened because you wanted to kiss me.” Vimes winced and looked at the floor. 

Eyes closed, Sam muttered, “Let’s say - hypothetically - that’s true, then what?”

“Then, you move on by acknowledging that you and I can’t be together because, ultimately, it’s not what you want. You go home to Sybil and Young Sam and try to find comfort in the certainty of a loving home and fulfilment in your job without killing yourself during the execution of your duties.” 

The Patrician watched the subtle shift of muscles in Sam’s face. It was fascinating to see a man whose facial expressions were usually limited to wooden and angry to look so transparent. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought Sam was in actual pain and trying not to show it.

Havelock nodded to himself. Yes, if it were simple, Vimes wouldn’t be standing here. The demon had tugged on something Sam usually kept buried in the bottom drawers of his soul, and now it had escaped and the Commander was at a loss how to deal with it. 

Vimes’ eyes snapped open. He met Vetinari’s gaze, “What about you?”

The question caught him off guard for a split second. He blinked once before he replied, “I’m not the one who’s conflicted about what has or hasn’t happened.” That was strictly speaking true if not altogether accurate. A lie by omission, but Vimes didn’t need to know that, he was confused enough already.

Vimes studied his face as if he was looking for a catch. “What if someone found out about us?”

That was an interesting question given that a second ago they had discussed how this thing between them had never happened. Vetinari felt his pulse quickening.

“Tyrant. I can do as I please. I have nothing to lose. You on the other hand have, as you pointed out, a reputation and social obligations to your family. I’m unburdened by such restrains. Oh, there would be talk, but again: tyrant.” 

“Fine, but what do _you_ want?” Sam insisted. Havelock couldn’t help but noticing that the other man’s eyes kept darting to his lips. He didn’t know this of course, but the Commander was stepping onto thin ice with this line of enquiry. 

“Oh, I’m not sure you’re ready to hear the answer to that question,” Vetinari replied.  He had indeed wondered what it was he wanted from Sam Vimes. Despite all assertions that he couldn’t afford to get distracted, the question had haunted him, even in his sleep. The tip of Sam’s tongue darted out, leaving a wet trail on the man’s bottom lip. 

“What are you looking at?” Sam panted. Vetinari looked up. Their eyes met. After a moment’s hesitation, Havelock leaned closer, softly brushing his lips across Sam’s, not quite not kissing.

Vimes eyes widened in shock. It shouldn’t have surprised him. He had known. Of course he had known, but the reality of it seemed to knock the wind out of him. 

“There is another way of moving on,” Vetinari murmured against his mouth. 

“How?” Vimes gasped.

“You can choose this.” It was just the softest press of lips on lips. A simple, almost innocent kiss, only nothing was ever innocent where the Patrician was concerned. 

It lasted only three heartbeats before Vetinari pulled back. They were breathing the same air, watching each other with hooded eyes. 

“Damn,” Vimes cursed and pressed his lips against Havelock’s once again before he bolted out of the room. 

*~*

Sam ran down the stairs until he reached the second floor landing. His heart was racing. He had thought he had felt awful before, but now it seemed he had discovered a whole new level of unbearable. This was so much worse. Because it wasn’t a one-sided madness. It was him and _him_. He wanted…and Vetinari, he… 

Cursing, he paced back and forth on the landing, banging his fists into the wall. 

“That bloody bastard!” 

Suddenly, the world tumbled and shifted sideways when he was bodily seized by strong hands and pulled into the concealed entrance of a hidden passage. 

Before he could blink, warm lips swallowed any protest that might have come out of his mouth. A slick tongue took advantage when he gasped into the kiss, slipping into his mouth and turning his knees to jelly. Sam knocked them together to stop from sliding onto the floor. 

“Wha-“ he managed to get out between kisses. “What are you doing?” 

Havelock pulled back, one hand on either side on the wall next to Sam’s head. It was pitch black in the hidden corridor but thanks to his demonic passenger, he could make out every single detail of Vetinari’s face: his eyes were half-closed, usually pale cheeks flushed. His lips shone, wet and inviting. It was a good look on him. 

Sam had always been ready to admit that the Patrician was handsome in a sinister, broody way, but now he looked bloody amazing. There was something irresistible about seeing such a controlled man come undone. Because of him.

Before he could second guess himself, Sam reached up and cupped Vetinari’s cheek before he licked along the seam of his lips, his tongue slipping inside that clever mouth. What was he doing? Vetinari groaned and Sam forgot to care. 

After what seemed like a small eternity, they pulled back. Sam had to suppress a shiver when Havelock’s lips ghosted along the shell of his ear, whispering, his voice thick with lust. “You want to know what I want?” Sam managed a nod. 

“I want to take you to my bed. I want to strip you out of this uniform and kiss every inch of your skin. I want to use your mouth and tie you up and make you fuck yourself on my cock. I want to hear you beg me to let you come. And then I want to do it all over again because I’m absolutely certain once wouldn’t be enough. That’s what I want.” 

Vimes couldn’t breathe. The words had knocked the air out of him. He had expected Vetinari to be direct but it wasn’t the frankness that left him shaking. The words, spoken in that mesmerising voice that could spellbind a whole room full of vipers, had hit too close to what he had tried to run away from. He had tried to deny what he was craving and here was the very man he had become impossibly entangled with, offering the very thing he knew he shouldn’t want. 

Whether he felt the tension in Sam’s body or whether his own directness had surprised him, Havelock pulled away and took a step backward, leaving Vimes feeling cold and adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions. 

“I had to ask, didn’t I?” Sam chuckled humourlessly, his nerves frayed.

“Commander, the same rules as before apply. If you don’t want this, you can walk away and we pretend this never happened. I will never mention it again, and I will most certainly not hold it against you. I would just ask of you to do me the courtesy and return the favour.” 

There wasn’t even a hitch in Vetinari’s voice. Nothing that would betray that he had kissed Sam within an inch of life just moments ago. How did the man do it? Always so controlled, so impossibly perfect, so _Vetinari_. 

“I need to think. I can’t think when you’re standing right there, looking at me like that,” Sam said. 

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, I can’t see a thing,” Vetinari replied, still appearing to stare straight at him. 

“I need some time,” Vimes exclaimed, raking his hand through his hair. 

“Take all the time you need, only-“

“Yes?”

“Please stop trying to kill yourself. The city can’t afford to lose you.”

It would be so easy to fish for a confession, some sign that whatever was happening between them had meaning beyond the base desire to tear each others’ clothes off. All he would have to ask would be something along the lines of - “Just the city?” - but that wasn’t how it worked between them. 

Instead Vimes said, “The Times won’t be publishing my eulogy any time soon, your lordship.” 

“Glad to hear it, Sir Samuel. And now, don’t let me detain you.”

*~*

“I acquiesce to your request, Commander,” Corporal von Humpeding replied, but her nose wrinkled in disgust before she left for her assignment.

Nobby sidled up to his commanding officer. “Mister Vimes, what does “acquiesce” mean, exactly?” He asked, scratching a spot on his chin.

“It means,” Vimes explained, “to reluctantly agree to do something.” 

“Ah- hang on, do you mean she said she will do it, but she won’t like it?”

Vimes sighed, “Yes, Nobby, that’s precisely what it means.” He forestalled any further questions by saying, “Come on, let’s go. The peace won’t keep itself for long. Not in this city.” 

They stepped out of the yard and Vimes took care not to look up Broadway and across the Brass Bridge. He would have to, of course, sooner or later. It was inevitable, but as it had been pointed out to him, he had a choice in the matter. Maybe that was enough for now. It certainly gave him something to ponder while he turned up the collar on his cape and stalked into the night. 

The End


End file.
